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FTER the delivery of your royal father's person into the hands of the army to him, she was pleased to send me; and by the help of Hugh Peters I got my ad mittance, and coming well instructed from the queen (his majesty having been kept long in the dark) he was pleased to discourse very freely with me of the whole state of his affairs : But, fir, I will not launch into an history, instead of an epistle. One morre ing waiting on him at Causham, smiling upon me, he said he could tell me some new of myself, which was, that he had seen some verses of mine the evening before being those to Sir R. Fanshaw); and asking me when I made them, I told him two or thre years since; he was pleased to say, that having never seen them before, he was afraid Í had written them since my return into England, and though he liked them well. he would advise me to write no more; alledging, that when men are young, and have little else to do, they might vent the overflowings of their fancy that way; but when they were thought fit for more serious employments, if they still perfifted in that courle, it would look as if they minded not the way to any better.

Whereupon I stood corrected as long as I had the honour to wait upon him, and at his departure from Hampton Court, he was pleased to command me to stay privately at London, to send to him and receive from him all his letters from and to all his corres

. pondents at home and abroad, and I was furnished with nine several cyphers in order to it: which truft I performed with great safety to the persons with whom we correlponded; but about nine months after being discovered by their knowledge of Mr. Cowley's hand, I happily escaped both for myself, and those that held correspondence with me. That time was too hot and busy for such idle speculations: but after I had the good fortune to wait upon your majesty in Holland and France, you were pleased sometimes to give me arguments to divert and put off the evil hours of our banishment, which now and then fell not short of your majesty's expectation.

After, when your majesty, departing from St. Germains to Jersey, was pleased freely (without my alking) to confer upon me that place wherein I have now the honour to ferve you, 1 then gave over poetical lines, and made it my business to draw such others as might be more serviceable to your majesty, and I hope more lafting. Since that time I never disobeyed my old master's commands till this summer at the Wells, my retirement there tempting me to divert those melancholy thoughts, which the new apo paritions of foreign invalion and domestic discontent gave us : but these clouds being


happily blown over, and our fun clearly shining out again, I have recovered the re

it being suspected that it would have proved the epidemical difeafe of age, which pt to fall back into the follies of youth ; yet Socrates, Aristotle, and Cato did the ; and Scaliger faith, that fragment of Aristotle was beyond any thing that Pindar

lomer ever wrote. I will not call this a dedication, for those epistles are commonly N Sater absurdities than any that come after; for what author can reasonably believe,

fixing the great name of some eminent patron in the forehead of his book can maway censure, and that the first leaf should be a curtain to draw over and hide all deformities that stand behind it? neither have I any need of such shifts, for most of parts of this body have already had your majesty's view, and having pait the teit of lear and sharp-lighted a judgment, which has as good a title to give law in matters bis nature as in any other, they who fall presume to diffent from your majesty, will more wrong to their own judgment than their judgment can do to me: and for those er parts which have not yet received your majesty's favourable aspect, if they who

feen them do not fatter me (for I dare not trust my own judgment) they will se it appear, that it is not with me as with most of mankind, who never forsake Ir darling vices, till their vices forsake them; and that this divorce was not Frigitis caufa, but an act of choice, and not of neceflity. Therefore, Sir, I shall only call. h humble petition, that your majesty will please to pardou this new amour to my old tress, and my disobedience to his commands, to whose memory I look up with great erence and devotion : and making a serious reflection upon that wise advice, it carmuch greater weight with it now, than when it was given ; for when age

and lerience has so ripened man's discretion as to make it fit for use, either in private f the public affairs, nothing blafts and corrupts the fruit of it so much as the empty, airy o glutation of being Nimis Poeta; and therefore I shall take my leave of the Muses, as I go of my predecessors did, saying,

“ Splendidis longum valedico nugis.
“ Hic versus & cætera ludicra pono.”


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PoE м S





Oh happiness of sweet retir'd content!

To be at once secure, and innocent. URE there are pocts which did never dream

Windsor the next (where Mars vith Venu: drell,

Beauty with strength) above the valley (wells Of Helicon; we therefore may fuppofe

Into my eye, and doth itself present
'Those made not pocts, but the poets those. With such an easy and unforc'd ascent,
And as courts make not kings, but kings the court, That no ftupendous preeipice denies
So where the Muses and their train rcfort, Access, no horror turns away our eyes :
Parnallus stands; if I can be to thee

But such a rise as doth at once invite
A poet, thou Parnassus art to me.

A pleasure, and a reverence from the light. Nor wonder, if (advantag'd in my flight,

Thy mighty master's emblem, in whose face By taking wing from thy auspicious height) Satc mickness, heighten'd with majestic grace; Through untrac'd ways and airy parhs I fly, Such seems thy gentle height, made only proud More boundless in my fancy than my cye : To be the balis of that pompous load, My eye, which swist as thought contra is the space Than which, a nobler weight no mountain bears, That lies between, and firit falutes the place But Atlas only which supports the spheres. Crown'd with that sacred pile, so vast, so high, When Nature's hand this ground did thus advance, That, whether 'tis a part of earth or sky, 'Twas guided by a wiser power than Chance; Uncertain seems, and may be thought a proud Mark'd-out for such an use, as if 'twere meant Aspiring mountain, or descending cloud.

T'invite the builder, and his choice prevent. Paul's the late theme of such a * Muse, whose Nor can we call it choice, when whai we chuse, flight

Folly or blindness only could rcsuse. Has bravely reach'd and foar'd above thy height. A crown of such majestic towers doth grace Now shalt thou stand, though sword, or time, or | The gods great mother, when her hea: enly race fire,

Do homage to her, yet she cannot boast Or zeal more ficrce than they, thy fall conspire,

Among that numerous, and celestial hoft, Secure, whilft thee the best of poets fings, More heroes than can Windsor, nor deth Farnc's Preserv'd from rúin by the best of kings.

Immortal book record more noble names. Under his proud survey the city lies,

Not to look back so far, to whom this ille And like a mist beneath a hill doth rise ;

Owes the first glory of so brave a pile, Whose state and wealth, the business and the Whether to Cæfar, Albanac, or Brute, crowd,

The British Arthur, or the Danish Cnute, Seems at this distance but a darker cloud :

(Though this of old no less contest did move, And is, to him who rightly things esteems, Than when for Homer's birth fcven cities strove No other in effect than what it seems :

(Like him in birth, thou should'It be like in sane, Where, with like hafte, though several ways, they As thine his fate, if mine had been his fame) run,

But whosoe'er it was, Nature design'd Some to undo, and some to be undone;

First a brave place, and then as brave a mind. While luxury, and wealth, like war and peace,

Not to recount those several kings, to whom Are each the other's ruin, and increasc;

It gave a cradle, or to whom a tomb; As rivers loft in feas, some secret vein

But thee, great Edward, and thy greater Son, Thence reconveys, there to be loft again. (The lilies which his father wore, he won) * Mr. Waller.

Edward III, and the Black Prince.

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And thy' Bellona, who the confort came And like the block, unmoved lay : but ours,
Not only to thy bed, but to thy fame,

As much too active, like the stork devours.
She to thy triumph led one captive * king, Is there no temperate region can be known,
And brought that fun, which did the second t Betwixt their frigid, and our torrid zone?

Could we not wake from that lethargic dream,
Then didit thou found that order (whether love But to be restless in a worse extreme?
Or victory thy royal thoughts did move)

And for that lethargy was there no cure,
Each was a noble cause, and nothing less

But to be cast into a calenture?
Than the design, has been the great success : Can knowledge have no bound, but must advance
thich foreign kings and emperors cfteem So far, to make us wish for ignorance ;
The second honour to their diadern.

And rather in the dark to grope our way,
Had thy great deftiny but given thee skill Than led by a false guide to err by day?
To know, as well as power to act her will, Who sees these dismal heaps, but would demand
That from those kings, who then thy captive: What barbarous invader fack'd the land?

But when he hears, no Goth, no Turk did bring la after-times should spring a royal pair,

This desolation, but a Chriflian king; Who should poffefs all that thy mighty power,

When nothing, but the name of zeal, appears 0; tby desires more mighty, did devour :

”Twixt our best actions and the wortt of theirs ;
To whom their better fate reserves whate'er What does he think our sacrilege would spare,
The victor hopes for, or the vanquish'd fear; When such th' effects of our devotion are?
That blood, which thou and thy great grandfire Parting from thence 'twixt anger, shame, and

And all that since these lifter nations bled, Those for what's past, and this for what's too near,
Had been unspilt, and happy Edward known My eye descending from the hill, surveys
That all the blood he spilt, had been his own. Where Thames among the wanton vallics srays.
When he that patron chose, in whom are join'd Thames, the most lov'd of all the Ocean's sons
Soldier and martyr, and his arms confin'd

By his old fire, to his embraces runs; Within the azure circle, he did seem

Hating to pay his tribute to the sea, But to foretel, and prophesy of him,

Like mortal life to meet eternity, Who to his rcalms that azure round hath join'd, Though with those streams he no resemblance Which Nature for their bound at first design'd.

hold, That bound which to the world's extremelt ends,

Whose foar is amher, and their gravel gold; Endless itself, its liquid arms extends.

His genuine and less guilty wealth t'explore, Nor doch he need those emblems which we paint, Search not his bottom, but furvey his shore; But is himself the foldier and the saint.

O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing, Here should my wonder dwell, and here my praise, And hatches plenty for th' ensuing spring. Eut my fix'd thoughts my wandering eye betrays, Nor then destroys it with too fond a llay, Vicwing a neighbouring hill, whose top of late

Like mothers which their infants overlay. à chapel crown'd, till in the common fate

Nor with a sudden and impetuous wave, Th' adjoining abbey fell : (may no such storm Like profuse kings, resumes the wealth he gave. Hall on our times, where ruin must reform !) No unexpe&cd inundations ipoil Tell me, my Muse, what monitrous dire offence, The mower's hopes, nor niock the plowman's toil: What crime could any Christian king incense But god-like his unweary'd bounty flows; To such a rage? Was't luxury, or luft?

First loves to do, then loves the good he does. Was he so temperate, so chaste, so juft?

Nor are his blessings to his banks confin’d, Were these their crimes? They were his own But free, and common, as the sea or wind; much more :

When he, to boast or to disperse his stores Put wealth is crime enough to him that's poor;

Full of the tributes of his grateful shores, Who, having spent the treasures of his crown,

Visits the world, and in his flying towers Condemos their luxury to feed his own.

Brings home to us, and makes both Indiez ours; And yet this act, to varnish o'er the shame Finds wealth where 'tis, bestows it where it wants, Of sacrilege, must bear Devotion's name.

Cities in defarts, woods in cities plants.
No crime fo bold, but would be understood So that to us no thing, no place is strange,
A real, or at least a seeming good :

While his fair bosom is the world's exchange. Who fears not to do ill, yet fcars the name,

O could I flow like thce, and make thy stream And free from conscience, is a ilave to fame : My great example, as it is my theme! Thus he the church at once protects, and spcils : Though deep, yet ciear; though gentle, yet not But princes' swords are sharper than thcir styles. dull; And thus to th' ages past he makes amends, Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full. Their charity destroys, their faith defends. Heaven her Eridanus no more fiall boast, Then did religion in a lazy cell,

Whose fame in thine, like leiler current, 's loft In empty, airy contemplations dwell;

Thy nobler streams shall visit Jove's abodes,

To shine among the * Itars and bathe the gods. Queen Philippa. † The kings of France and Scotland.

* The Forest,

Here nature, whether more intent to please With these t'avoid, with that his fate to meet; Us for herself, with strange varieties,

But fear prevails, and bids him trust his fect. (For things of wonder give no less delight, So fast he flies, that his reviewing eye To the wise maker's, than beholder's fight. Has lost the chafers, and his ear the cry; Though these delights from several caufes nore; Exulting, till he finds their nubler sense For fo our children, thus our friends we love) Their disproportion d speed doth recompence; Wisely she know, the harmony of things,

Then curses his confpirisa feci, whose scent As wellas that of sounds, from difcord sprir gs. Betrays that safety whicho. cir swiftness lent. Such was the discord, which did first ditperfc Then tries his friends; anro:'g the baser herd, Form, order, beauty, through the universe; Where he so lately was obey'd and fear'd, While dryness, moisture, coldness heat refifts, His safety seeks: the herd, unkindly wise, All that we have, and that we are, fubfifts. Or chales him from thence, or from him flies, While the steep horrid roughness of the wood Like a declining statesman, left forlorn Strives with the gentle calmness of the flood. To his friends' pity, and pursuers' scorn, Such huge extremes when nature doth unitc, With fhame remembers, while himself was one Wonder from thence results, from thence delight. Of the fame herd, himself the fame had done. The ftrcain is fn transparent, pure, and clear, Thence to the coverts and the conscious groves, That had the self-enamour'd youth gaz'd here, The scenes of his past triumphs, and his loves ; So fatally deceiv'd he had not been,

Sadly surveying where he rang'd alone While he the hottom, not his face had seen. Prince of the soil, and all the herd his own; But his prond head the airy mountain hides And like a bold knight-errant did proclaim Among the clouds; his shoulders and his fides Combat to all, and bore away the dame; A shady mantle cloaths; his curled brows

And taught the woods to echo to che stream
Frown on the gentle stream, which calmly flows; His dreadful challenge and his clothing beam.
While winds and storais his lofty forehead beat : Yet fainely now declines the fatal Atrile,
The common fate of all that's high or great. So much his love was dearer than his life.
Low at his foot a spacious plain is plac'd,

Now every leaf, and every moving breath
Between the mountain and thc ftriam embrac'd : Presents a foe, and every foc a dcath.
Which shade and shelter from the hill derives, Weary'd, forsaken, and priucd, at last
While the kind river weaith and beauty gives; All lafety in defpair of suiciy placid,
And in the mixture of all these appears

Courage he thence remes, reiolv'd tu bear
Variety, which all the rest end ars

All their allaults, since 'tis in vain to fear. This scene had fome bold Greek or British bard Ind now icolate he wihes for the fight Beheld of old, what stories had we hcard

That strength he wasted in ignoble flight: Of fairies,fatyrs, and the nymph their dames, But when he fees the cager chasc renew'd, Their fears, their reveis, and their angerous Himfell by chups, the dogs by men pursued, flames ?

He ftraighi revokes his bold relulve, and more 'Tis still the same, although their airy shape Repents his courage, than his fear before; All but a quick poctic fight efcap.

Finds that ercerain way, uplateit are, There Faunus and Sylvanus keep thrir courts, and doubt a greater mischief than despair. And thither all the horned host refurts

Then to the stream, when neither friends, nor forces To graze the ranker mead, that 10!!ı herd, Nor speed, nor art avail, he ihapes his course; On whose sublime ard fnady fronts is rouri Thicks noitheir rüg: fo desperate to eflay Nature's great maf

-piece; to ihew how foon An element more merciless than they. Great things are made, but fooner are un 'one. But fearless they pursue, nor can the flood Here have I seen the king when great affairs Quench their dire thirst; alas, they thirft for Gave leave to flacken and unbend his cares,

blood. Attended to the chase by all the flover

So towards a ship the oar-linn'd gallies plv, Of youth, whose hopes a robler iy

devour: Which wantirg sea to ride, or wind to fly, Mentire with praise, and danger they would buy, Sands but to fallrevengid on those that dare And wish a foe that would not only fly

Tenpt the last fury of extreme despair: The fag, now conscious of his fao?l growth, So fares the tag, among th' enraged bounds, At once indulgent to his fcanard loth,

Repels their force, and wourds returns for woord To fome dark cover his retreat had made,

And as a liso, whom his haferfos Where 110r man's eye, nor hezron's thould invade In troops surround, now thele affails, now thos, His fost repose; win th' unexp.cked found Though prodiral of life, disdains to die Of dogs, and men, his walciniear do's wound: by common hands; but if he can descry Rouz’d with the ncife, he scarce believes his car, Some nobler for approach, to him he calls, Willing to think th'illusions of his fear

Andbags his fate, and then contented fails : }ład giv’n this fait-alarm, kot reight his vicw So wh n the king a inortal thaltlets fly, Conirms, that more tinn all he fears is true, From his unerring hand, then, glad to dr, Tetray'd in all his trength, the wood beset; Proud of the wound, to it refigns his biood, All instruments, al arts of ruin met;

And ftains the crystal with a purple flood. tie calls to mind his frengti, tu then his speed, This a more innocent, and happy chase, His winged heels, and then his armed head; Than when of old, but in the schf-fame place,

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